I heard footsteps approaching in the corridor behind me. I glanced back and spotted Senior Deputy Tiller, with a file folder in his hand. He nodded at me briefly and disappeared through the doorway.

“Excuse me, Tiller?”

He stuck his head back out the door. “You call me?”

I glanced at Dana. “Sorry to interrupt, but I have to talk to him,” I said, and followed him into the office. Her look of annoyance indicated she wasn’t nearly done with me yet.

23

Tiller looked up quizzically from the file drawer where he was tucking the folder. “What was that all about?”

I closed the door, lifting a finger to my lips. I pointed to the back. His eyes strayed to the hallway. He closed the file drawer and jerked his head toward the rear. I followed him through a maze of desks. We reached a smaller office, which I took to be his. He closed a second door behind us and motioned me onto a chair. I tossed my empty coffee cup in the trash can and sat down with relief. “Thanks. This is great. I couldn’t think how else to get away from her. She must have needed someone to crank on, and I was elected.”

“Well, I’m glad to oblige. You want another cup of coffee? We got a fresh pot back here. That probably came from the vending machine.”

“Thanks, but I’m coffeed out for the time being. I’d like to sleep at some point. How are you?”

“Fine. I just came on, working graveyard. I see you got our boy back in the can.” He sat down on his swivel chair and leaned back with a creaking sound.

“Wasn’t that hard to do. I figured Wendell had to have him somewhere close, and I did a little legwork. Boring, but not tough. What’s the deal on this end? Do they know yet how he got sprung?”

Tiller shrugged, uncomfortably. “They’re looking into it.” He changed the subject, apparently reluctant to share the details of the in-house investigation. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, I could see that his sandy hair and his mustache were threaded with silver, his eyes wreathed in creases. The boyish contours of his face had begun to shrink, leaving puckers and wrinkles. He must have been close to Wendell’s age without the youth-perpetuating benefits of Wendell’s cosmetic surgery. I was staring idly at his hands when I felt a little question mark appear above my head. “What is that?”

He caught the look and held out his hand. “What, the class ring?”

I leaned forward, peering. “Isn’t that Cottonwood Academy?”

“You know the school? Most people never heard of it. Went out of business, I don’t know how many years back. These days you don’t find many all-male institutions. Sexist, they call it, and they may be right. Mine was the last class to graduate. Only sixteen of us. After that, kapoot,” he said. His smile was tinged with pride and affection. “What’s your connection? You must have a good eye. Most class rings look the same.”

“I just saw one recently from a Cottonwood graduate.”

“Really. Who’s that? We’re still a real tight bunch.”

“Wendell Jaffe.”

His gaze stuck to mine briefly, and then he looked away. He shifted on his chair. “Yeah, I guess old Wendell did go there,” he said, as if it had just occurred to him. “You sure you don’t want some more coffee?”

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Me, what?”

“Brian’s jail release,” I said.

Tiller laughed, jolly ho-ho, but it didn’t sound sincere. “Hey, sorry. Not me. I wouldn’t even know how to go about it. You put me near a computer, my IQ drops about fifteen percentage points.”

“Oh, come on. What’s the scoop? I’m not going to tell anyone. What do I care? The kid’s back. I swear I won’t say a word.” I shut my mouth then and let the silence accumulate. Basically he was an honest soul, capable of an occasional unlawful act, but not comfortable about it, unable to deny his culpability when confronted. His fellow cops love guys like him because they’re quick with a confession, eager for the relief. He said, “No, really. You’re barking up the wrong tree here.” He did a neck roll, trying to relieve the tension, but I noticed he hadn’t terminated the conversation. I prodded him a bit. “Did you help Brian the first time, when he escaped from juvie?”

His expression became bland, and his tone shifted into officiousness. “I don’t think this line of talk is going to be productive,” he said.

“All right. Let’s forget about the first escape and just talk about the second. You must have owed Wendell a big one to risk your job that way.”